Please note: There is a possible Trigger Warning in this chapter. Please take care of yourself and get a pre-reader if necessary.
Cullen navigated through the various twists and turns of the uneven terrain. Off the beaten path and around the corner, debris marked the ruins of an elven structure. The weathered stone was all that stood between them, provided Samson was true to his word. His breathing quickened and he picked up the pace.
He found a small structure, seemingly undisturbed by weather over the course of the years. He anticipated guards, a contingent of red Templars - something- but to his surprise, the area was mostly clear.
Too much fighting elsewhere to have guards stand watch.
Once Samson had been a good man -a good Templar- but their shared past could only carry him so far. The red lyrium and Corypheus had changed him and everything he said dripped with dishonesty. Cullen expected something terrible lie in wait beyond the door. But a part of him, wished so badly for it to be true, for Evie to be alive.
He resumed his earlier mantra. As long as she was breathing, they could heal her: mind, body, and soul, it didn't matter. If she lived, there was still a chance.
This could easily have been another trick, the last evil act of a desperate man. All the same, he allowed himself the smallest of hopes that Samson was telling the truth. Approaching the door carefully, checking for traps, he tried the handle only to find it locked.
A swift and powerful charge may work. Cullen took forty paces back and braced himself. He inhaled deeply and rolled out his muscles. This is going to hurt.
Running at full speed, he rushed the door and his shoulder met unrelenting stone. Though his plate absorbed most of the shock and damage, the impact reverberated sending pain shooting down his arm.
He rummaged through his pack, and pulled out the lockpicks he kept on hand. A slight smirk tugged at his lips as he remembered her questioning the necessity.
Evelyn quirked her eyebrow. "Really Commander, you have lockpicks?"
"It isn't my area of expertise, but the idea has merit."
This is why I carry them, Evie.
Six of them broke with his attempts. Cullen may have been a fierce warrior, but he was no rogue. Sweat broke across his brow as he focused on what he hoped to be lucky number seven.
After a small jiggle and a gentle turn, a subtle click was heard and the door creaked open, its hinges screaming in protest. Evelyn sat on the bench, the only piece of furniture in the entire building. She was still and faced away from Cullen. He chuckled nervously at the sight of her because if he didn't laugh, he would cry. He was elated to see her alive and he shuddered as relief engulfed him. His lips upturned into a smile and his heart was as light as air.
I found you as promised and now I will bring you home.
"Evelyn," Cullen whispered, his voice unsteady.
Evie turned to look at him, her eyes sparkling with recognition and unshed tears. She ran to him and he, her. They collided with an embrace so powerful it nearly knocked Cullen off balance. He cradled her head whispering words of comfort and assurances of safety. "I knew you would come for me!"
His hands dwarfed her head as he took a step back, giving her a visual inspection to assess for any bruising, wounds or trauma. The fact that she didn't appear harmed allowed his heart to settle to a wild beat in his chest. She squeezed him tighter. His elbow hooked around her neck as a slew of Chant passages fell from his lips and he pressed a kiss to the middle of her forehead.
"Thank the Maker you're safe."
Just now, everything was worth fighting for.
Except it wasn't.
Like all the world's cruel tricks, this happiness lasted only a moment, a fantasy conjured from the desperate desire for her safety coupled with the effects of lyrium and a substantial loss of blood.
Cullen navigated through the various twists and turns of the uneven terrain. Off the beaten path and around the corner, debris marked the ruins of an elven structure. The weathered stone was all that stood between them, provided Samson was true to his word. His breathing quickened and he picked up the pace. He had to take a moment; cutting a strip of his mantle and tying it around his waist to apply pressure to his wound.
His footsteps crunched leaves beneath his feet and a twig snapped.
Evelyn sat on the bench in the open area, facing away from Cullen. She was still, almost unnaturally so, and his mind flitted to the dark possibility that Samson may have set this up, positioned her to give the illusion of life despite death. Holding his side, slow steps closed the distance. He swallowed thickly and tried to ignore the pain that even the subtlest movements caused.
"Evelyn!"
She turned her head toward the sound of his voice but said nothing. Across the distance he could see how posture had changed- it was stiffer, not allowing for her usual grace- and he knew to his core that something was wrong.
She redirected her attention forward and stood. Evie's long, raven hair was parted to the side with her bangs draped diagonally covering her forehead and half of her right eye. It framed her face and Cullen had always loved the way she peered at him through it. Voluminous curls spanned down her back and around her shoulders. Cullen anticipated a smile, an overdue embrace, the touch of her lips as they crashed against his own. But he didn't get that.
Evelyn walked slowly around the bench with her hands clasped in front of her and stared through him. "Commander Cullen." Her normally melodic voice sounded different. It took a moment for him to understand what it was- a chill, an all too familiar disconnect. A flat tone that she'd never taken with him. It was cold and distant, and his Evie had never been either.
Both title and name...?
Thoughts ran rampant, his mind not fully comprehending her odd behavior. Then, as if a candle had been lit, the spark of realization dawned on him as he remembered exactly where he'd heard it before. The same inflection void of emotion. No. Cullen's heart stopped. Like the unseen arrow which cut through the night, it skewered him in two. No! He shook his head and staggered backward, clutching his side. His chest constricted and breath escaped his lungs. Maker, No!
The wind shifted, blowing her hair away from her face, giving Cullen a glimpse that made his knees buckle, validating his suspicions. Tears overflowed his eyes and spilled down his cheeks in a steady stream as he trembled. He hung his head and silently sobbed into his gloves.
Of all the things he endured to get here, he never truly faltered. Cullen had been the young Templar who stood as the survivor of a circle overrun with abominations. The one who knew what it was to be tormented by demons and watch his friends slaughtered. He, who had stood defiant against a corrupt Knight Commander and fought alongside the Champion of Kirkwall at the beginning of a war. Despite the few triumphs and multiple tragedies he experienced over the course of his life, Cullen never gave up or gave in. Even after all that…
Now, however, was the first time Cullen felt such total, soul-crushing defeat. The horrors of life had finally broken him. As he spread his fingers and looked through the gaps at Evelyn to confirm what he saw had been real, his heart shattered.
He expected a lifeless body but this... this was worse.
The brand stood out; the sunburst stark against the pale skin of her brow.